


leave the war with me.

by riskbreakered



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M, Jobs, Knight/White Mage, Zodiac Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 11:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riskbreakered/pseuds/riskbreakered
Summary: A knight is best with a healer by their side.





	leave the war with me.

Vaan returns to the inn late in the afternoon, having volunteered himself to run to the bazaar for supplies. He upends his overstuffed travel bag on the nearest empty table. It's a loud and sudden commotion, baubles jingling, tinctures and potions rolling across the surface, odd scraps of items Ashe can't identify.

She moves closer at once for an inspection.

"Not all of this," Ashe gestures to the pile, "was on the list we procured, surely."

Vaan scratches his nose. "I'm pretty good at bargaining, Princess."

(Penelo, nearby, holds back a sigh.)

Ashe finds a book amidst the mess and plucks it out. It seems well worn with use, the cover tattered, the title faded in small areas -- gingerly she opens the cover.

"Healing magicks?" 

Her fingers brush across the cover page in tender curiosity; it's been too long since she traded her hours of royal studies for the path of a vengeful sword. 

"Aye, it was a request of mine."

Basch moves toward the opposite side of the table, and she watches him as he spots the book she is still holding, gently, the tension building along her spine instead. There is some petulant, private urge to simply hurl the book at him -- but Ashe isn't the slave to her impulses, she is reminded, and places the book carefully back onto the table.

He doesn't immediately reach for it, but Ashe turns her attention away all the same.

"Next time I think I shall accompany you," she says to Vaan, Penelo echoing her sentiment behind her.

* * *

Ashe flicks her sword toward the sand, shaking off the blood. Keeping herself at the forefront during the fight, she looks around to inspect her party.

Basch, she learns, fights nothing like Vossler did. 

For two long years, Ashe had grown accustomed to following Vossler's lead -- nay, too accustomed -- having thought herself too young and inexperienced in battle. And now, she thinks, he must have decided similar; having lost faith in her, their cause, and thus striking a traitorous bargain with the enemy.

(Dead now also, like the desert wolves fallen at their feet.)

Ashe pulls her travel cloak tighter, still bitter with the memory. She turns to her companions. Regardless of her attitude toward him, still angry, still uncertain, Basch keeps vigilant just behind her.

Having seen her share of mages, she admits he makes an odd sight. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, cowl pulled back, he leans on his healer's staff and regards her.

Ashe doesn't understand his expression.

"Princess," he says, and she tightens the grip on her shield, "you need healing."

She waves him off, perhaps stubbornly. 

"Tend to the wounds of the others. We must press on quickly."

* * *

Her armor needs mending.

But not simply for the sake of Ashe do they decide to make camp at the traveler's outpost. The roads have been harsh on all of them, and rest and recuperation are high in order. Fatigue has strongly set in.

By day's end, Ashe has set herself on watch by the outpost smithy, a barebones affair unlike those in the city. Balthier has chosen to join her, and the two make table and chairs from a pile of old wooden boxes. 

"The sands viciously parch the throat," Balthier explains, pulling a small clay bottle of madhu from his bag. "But I've some remedy on hand."

Ashe agrees to playing cards; maybe it's the thought at how Vossler would've hated such games and his company. Maybe it's simple stubborn resistance -- but she never finds the company of the pirate entirely loathing.

(Those she loses at the cards quite handily.)

The smithy's fire burns long into the evening, and it is hours before Basch asks to join in.

"By all means, Captain. The Princess's coin purse shall surely meet its limit before long, I'd wager."

"Do as you like," Ashe agrees, the mildest assent she can muster.

The night plunges on, and the two lose to the pirate for many games more.

* * *

The undead are relentless.

Such a fell place to trespass as this, they ought not decide to make it their own tomb as well. Ashe keeps her shield lifted and swears an oath of it, even as more undead warriors shamble into the fray. Vaan keeps close to her side, and with Balthier and his lance they form a barrier.

Flames if magick meet where her sword does not. The zombie cries out in some forgotten language.

Ashe feels her wound seethe under her armor but she doesn't cry out. With so much chaos, she doesn't realize, not until the undead are torn apart and defeated, that the encumbrance of her wounds has been lifted.

Sword sheathed, Ashe looks to Basch, who tosses his broken wooden staff to the floor. His robe had torn again and is stained with blood and sweat. 

"A moment," he asks, "before we press on."

Ashe nods, grateful, and considerate.

* * *

She leans against the tent pole, an empty potion bottle playing between her hands. A distraction. Something to keep her awake, if only for a little while longer. 

Her weapons and armor are in a pile on the ground, and for the moment she is simply herself. Tired, wounded, longing ever for a home many days behind them.

Basch kneels carefully at her side, his book of healing magick turned open nearby. 

She listens to the words of the spells being cast, feels her body mend, the warm rush of healing light. 

"Something the knights said, years ago," she offers, the words spilling out with old memories. As if she could grab hold of them again, almost.

"Aye?"

Ashe closes her eyes, thinking, now barely awake. "About the necessity of a white mage at one's side."

She sleeps, dreams of a gentle hand resting on her cheek.


End file.
